Gilderoy Lockhart and the Wadim Terror
by Thaddeus Frost
Summary: Set a few years after the First War. A tale about Gilderoy Lockhart's road and means to fame, and the shady activities of a certain wouldbe Death Eater. Based on Lockhart's line from 'Secret Chamber': No one wants to read about an ugly old Armenian...
1. Chapter 1

-Chapter One-

**Wadim**

It was a miracle the ancient train station still stood, and was in fact being used. At the other side of the tracks stood an ancient watertower, clearly meant for the oldest of _Epemenoi _trains. Rusty iron pipes, once part of the contraption, lay scattered at the base of the structure, one of the many victims of the harsh winds of Romania.

Armavis Pilibos impatiently curled a grey strand of his dirty beard around his finger, and checked his pocketwatch for the fourth time in the past minute. The train was now nearly six minutes late. Armavis Pilibos had always valued time above all else. A trait most apparent, probably, in the fact that he carries a total of twenty-three watches with him. Irritated and a tad nervous, he tapped the cracked stone of the old platform with his weathered staff, making him even more aware of the seconds ticking away. Their contact was probably waiting for them by now, he thought, and they haven't even met up yet.

Suddendly he became aware of a slight vibration in the ground, almost immediately followed by a swelling noise. The Westerner was arriving. Instinctively, Armavis backed up into the shadows, outside of the sole, pitiful shaft of light generated by a single lamp. In the distance, he could see the _Epemenoi _train coming around the bend, it's light piercing the darkness ahead. As it came closer, he recognized the train to be of a newer make than the station suggested. Through one of the windows, he could see the driver, hazy-eyed, an unmistakeable sign of being magically confused. Armavis realized the redundancy of hiding in the shadows, yet continued to do so. With a slight squeal, the metal serpent braked, and slowly stopped in front of the old station, like wounded animal. Armavis' dark eyes quickly shot across the stream of tiny windows, and noted that there were very little passengers aboard the train. He did not have time to count them, because his eyes caught up a glimpse of something screaming for attention.

He presumed it was the Westerner. Armavis needed a second to adjust his eyes. The man he had to meet under discreet circumstances had chosen to wear a lilac robe with a golden pinstripe. Even in the murkiness of the trainstation, the offensive colours seemed to be screaming out in every direction. He sported a shock of golden blond hair, which was worn stylishly to one side. Armavis hesitated for a moment, but then stepped forward, into the light. The Westerner seemed startled for a short moment, but quickly regained his composure, and shot Armavis a shockingly white smile.

"Ah, mister Flibbybos, I presume?"

A silent grunt of annoyance escaped Armavis' lips.

"Pilibos. You are Lockhart?"

The Westerner shot another one of his dazzlingly white smiles, and made a flamboyant bow.

"I am indeed! Gilderoy Lockhart, at your service!"

Pilibos issued another annoyed grunt, though at an audible volume this time.

"You are not in my service."

He quickly spied his surroundings even, though he knew that if there were something out there, he'd have noticed it already. Almost involuntarily, he looked at the watch hung around his neck., and noticed the train departing.

"Time is against us, mister Lockhart. We must hurry."

Gilderoy Lockhart laughed heartily, and much louder than was to Armavis' liking. In fact, he didn't like laughter at all. Lockhart must have read this from his facial expression, because he quickly went quiet.

"I'm sorry, my dear chap. I thought we were here to clear up mysteries, not for some militaristic Auror business?"

Armavis could think of a dozen suitably angry replies, but chose to say nought. He spun on his heel and strode to the old station's exit gate, part of him hoping the colourful Westerner would not follow. However, he heard his carefully modulated voice behind him.

"Hang on! I'll...ouch!" A loud noise of scattering gravel indicated that Lockhart had stumbled over one of the many broken bricks that were strewn around the place. Armavis halted and sighed, and mentally pushed down the little ball of rage that was forming deep inside of him. He turned to see Lockhart rummage through his cloak. Finally, he produced, with an elegant gesture, his wand.

"_Lumos_."

"_Nuchtha_!"

After drawing it in a flash Armavis lowered his gnarled wand again.The tip of Gilderoy Lockhart's wand lit up weakly and was extinguished before even properly spreading it's light. Lockhart stared at the tip for a moment, as if stil expecting it to still light up at any moment. He looked up at Armavis' scowling face with an odd expression that was somewhere between offended and polite.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to cast a spell there."

The little ball of rage cracked, and little droplets of fury seeped into his body, taking his final vestiges of patience.

"A _spell_?! _Lumos_?! Just so we could walk around like a large beacon for all the beasts here to see?! I ought to..."

As was usual in Armavis' rages, he trailed off into Armenian cursing and shouting. Lockhart simply stood and watched for a few moments, and then interjected.

"Just for the sake of self-defense: I noticed you extinguished my wand's light with a spell unfamiliar to me. In fact, that spell did not remotely sound like any spell I've ever heard. Are you incantating or are you just insulting me?"

With extreme effort, Armavis restored and sealed the tiny ball of rage, and pushed it down again. There obviously was no point in reprimanding this fool. He coughed conspicuously while regaining his composure. Lockhart just smiled brilliantly at him.

"So, no lights then? Well, fair enough, I think I'll manage to find my way quite well in the dark. Mind you, when I visited Norwegia..."

"I think it would be best if I led, Mister Lockhart."

Armavis interjected as with a tone as harsh as possible, but it did not seem like Lockhart had read the obvious contempt on his lined face.

"Want a shot at it, do you? Very well, lead the way, I'll make sure you're going the right way."

The two figures shot through the maze of pine trees decorating the hills adjacent to the train station. The sight of the two off them was odd, to say the least. Up front trudged a short and broad figure, leaning heavily on a staff. He was clad in a long, tattered green coat, which he wore over an old black robe. His grey hair and beard were wild and long, and had clearly not been washed for several weeks. His lined face showed his considerable age. All this heavily contrasted with the figuring following him, who was considerably taller and walked with a slight, proud bounce in his step. The gold lining on his lavish, lilac robe reflected the moonlight, making him look like some strange, luminous skeletal figure from afar. Armavis paused about every minute, taking time to spy his surroundings, and occasionally sniff the air. Lockhart would use these short intermissions to check his shock of fair hair in a small mirror he kept in his pocket. Occasionally, Lockhart and Pilibos seemed to comically imitating each other, for every time Pilibos stopped to check his pocketwatch, Lockhart would check his mirror. After stopping for what must have been the twelfth time, Lockhart sighed in a manner suggesting amusement, and patted Pilibos on the shoulder, making the older man jump up, alarmed, quickly drawing his wand. Lockhart stepped back, smiling, holding up his hands.

"Now, isn't that a little rash, master Flishybush? I was only trying to say that while your extreme caution is laudable, it is also superfluous."

"_What_?"

Pilibos spoke in haggard tones, still weary from the sudden shock.

"What I mean to say is, good fellow, and I certainly don't blame you for not knowing this, there has not been a foul beast that has dared to extend as much as a paw since they heard what happened to the Vampires in the east."

Pilibos loked at the smiling blond man, utterly flabbergasted.

"What in damnation do you mean?"

Lockhart winked at him, and whispered in a mock-secretive tone.

"For all the details, read my next book, _Voyages with Vampires_. Coming out next month. I'll sign your copy."

The old warlock stared at the younger man with utter disbelief in his eyes. Lockhart simply smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. At exactly the same moment, a terrifying howl came echoing from beyond the hills. Pilibos ample hair on the back of his neck stood up straight, even though he had heard the sound innumerable times before. When he looked back at Lockhart's face he noticed to his delight that the Englishman's broad smile had faded a little. It was enough to wrench the corner's of the old Armenian's mouth slightly upwards. Perhaps Lockhart noticed, because he straightened up, and spoke in casual tones.

"Obviously regular wolves."

His travesty of a smile still present, Armavis Pilibos turned and continued through the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

-Chapter Two-

**The Last Stop**

The ancient town of Wadim was situated in one of the most sparsely populated regions of Romania. It was surrounded by thick forests, and the lack of electricity made the nights extremely dark. There were few, if any roads, most of them nothing but empty ditches. The town itself was nothing but a handful of crooked, ill-kept houses. The center of the town comprised of a small square with a delapidated water well in the middle, which was still the only source of water for the townspeople. Throughout the town stood ghostly straw puppets, which looked like unearthly creatures stalking the street in the moonlight. The spindly tower of a crumbling church casted it's tall shadow like blade cutting the town in half.

On the northern edge of the town, roughly two miles from the train station, stood a small inn, which was known to many as the Last Stop. How exactly this name had come about, no one is completely sure. The older residents of Wadim had occasionally recounted the stories their ancestors had told them when they were young. They spoke about the inn being the last stop of various hunters who went into the adjacent forest, never to return again. The forest itself, a dense maze of dark trees was the most concrete form of a border that seperated the region of Wadim with the Romanian province of Transsylvania. To go inside the forest, thus spoke the peasants, was much the same as cutting your own throat.

Gilderoy Lockhart wrinkled his nose, and looked around him once more, his eyes gliding past the grimy tables, dirty floors and rarely-washed locals.

"Well." he said. "And I thought the Leaky Cauldron was a bit shabby." He hoisted his lilac robe up a bit, so it wouldn't touch the floor.

Pilibos ignored his remark, and spoke curtly.

"Over there, in the corner. Our contact."

In what probably had to be the most ill-lit corner of the inn stood a single table, lit by a handful of grubby candles stuffed into a former jam jar. Behind sat a figure hidden mostly by the shadows, but a prominent grin full of rotting, yellowish teeth was clearly visible. Pilibos trudged up to the table, and set himself down without greeting. He gestured bluntly to Lockhart to follow his example.

"You're late." Spoke the stranger in a rasping voice. Both Pilibos and Lockhart noted that his accent pointed out he was not from around. Lockhart replied immediately, in a clear, delicate voice.

"Terribly sorry, I'm afraid I am to blame for that. Trains, you know. What is one to do about it?"

"Train?" rasped the stranger, slightly menacing. "You are supposed to be a wizard. Why not just pop in sight?"

Lockhart made a noise starting to reply, but Pilibos interjected swiftly.

"That is a foolish question. You yourself claimed that there were diseased wizards here. If we came here by magical means, they would know about it." Pilibos narrowed his eyes.

"That is, if it is true what you say."

The stranger chuckled, a horrible, wheezy sound, and leaned forward. His features now came into view properly, and Lockhart winced slightly, while Pilibos remained unfazed. The man had a remarkably ugly face, which was decorated with deep scars across his nose. Now that he leaned closer, his foul stench became prominent. Coughing as if to excuse himself, Lockhart started rummaging through his pockets. The stranger's raspy voice cut through the air again.

"You doubt my information? You doubt the word of Gavril?"

Pilibos voice remained calm, yet had a slightly angry hue to it.

"I doubt your word as much as I doubt your name is Gavril."

Gavril's devious grin seemed to falter slightly, but quickly restored itself.

"'tis a place to watch your step. I think it wise to hide myself."

Lockhart stopped rummaging and produced a lace handkerchief, which he held to his mouth and nose.

"Terribly sorry, what did I miss?"

"Nothing essential." Said Pilibos in a voice that displayed his contempt for both men. "Just the fact that our contact appears to be hiding truths fom us."

Lockhart frowned.

"Really? Well, good sir, why in Merlin's name would you do such a thing? I take it you don't recognize me?"

"No." said Gavril, bluntly.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," he said proudly, pointing at his chest. "Member of the Dark Force Defence League and two-time winner of _Witch Weekly_'s Most Charming Smile award. Coincidentally, author of bestsellers _Travels with Trolls, Year with a Yeti_, and most probably the forthcoming _Voyages with Vampires_. I mean of course," he quickly added, "that it will probably be a bestseller, not that I'm _probably_ the author. I can assure you I am."

Gavril stared at him blankly.

"So you see," Lockhart continued, relentless and oblivious to Pilibos' annoyance, "there really is no point in hiding things from me. Because I'll KNOW."

He punctuated this last sentence with a dramatic stare and a pointing finger.

"And in the unlikely case that I won't, mister Fliskythrow will."

"PILIBOS."

The man calling himself Gavril sniggered.

"Mister Fliskythrow needs no introduction, of course. The feared hunter of dark wizards and witches, and deserter of the New Order to boot."

Pilibos snarled, and things went quiet for a moment. Lockhart busied himself with his handkerchief, having obviously not heard Gavril's remark. A few bar patrons looked up. Now Armavis leaned closer to face Gavril.

"You will hold your tongue now, and tell me what you know, and refrain from alarming these _Epemenoi_."

Gavril frowned slightly.

"Epe-what?"

"Yet another indication, apart from your accent and poorly-chosen alias, that you are not Romanian. You Westerners..." he paused to look at both Lockhart and Gavril.

"You Westerners' spells and incantations are predominantly of Latin origin, because the Romans have had a sizeable influence on your lands. We, in the east, have learned far more from the ancient Greek, who were the mothers of our tongues. As such, our spells and terms _different_."

"As I suspected." said Lockhart proudly.

"_Epemenoi_ are what you call Muggles."

"Right you are." Lockhart interrupted again. Pilibos shot him an angry glare, and then turned back to Gavril.

"What have you to tell us?"

Gavril eased back into his rickety chair, and started to whisper, for he had noticed several of the bar patrons were now casting glances in their direction.

"Three months ago, someone died here. Old lumberjack, torn to shreds. At first, people blamed reg'lar wolves."

Lockhart nodded wisely. Gavril continued in his low rasp.

"The following month, eight people died the same way, on the same evening. By then, people started talking about beasts from the woods. Same thing 'appened last month, only more victims, now people started putting up these guardian straw puppets, meant to protect them."

Gavril paused to chuckle hoarsely. Pilibos stroked his beared, and spoke softly.

"Multiplying victims, once a month. It leaves little room for other possibilities, does it not?"

Lockhart nodded sagely. "Definitely vampires." He cast a grave look out of the grimy windows. "Thank the heavens I know how to handle them". Pilibos did not even bother to correct him, but looked out of the window too, to notice, to his relief, that the Moon was not completely full tonight. It did look like it would take very few nights for it to regain it's monthly completion. He cleared his throat, and spoke.

"So what we are essentially facing here is one Werewolf?"

Gavril grinned unpleasantly and said "Probably not. The villagers claim all the murders took place at about the same time. I reckon at least three Werewolves."

An elated grin was still spread across his ugly facial features, and it almost seemed as though he relished the idea. Pilibos' insides contorted when he realized what this meant.

"He's spreading the disease."

"Like wildfire." Replied Gavril, the worrying grin still present on his face. "And no way of curing them."

"Not for a while, at least." mused Pilibos.

"What did you say?" replied Gavril sharply.

Armavis gave him a long, cold stare after this sudden outburst, and the slightest twinge of nervousness was noticeable in the strange man. Then, he continued.

"Since a few months, I have been in regular correspondence with Damocles Belby, reknowned British potioneer. He has been working on a potion that lessens the symptoms of Lycanthropy, and so far, the results have been...encouraging."

"That's right!" interjected Lockhart in an enthusiastic tone. "In fact, I suggested the key ingredients of the potion, he couldn't possibly have managed without me!" He obviously anticipated testing questions, as he quickly added "Those ingredients are, naturally, top secret."

"Naturally." Sighed Pilibos. "Then forgive me for spilling the proverbial beans. The key ingredient is Wolfsbane."

Pilibos noticed that Gavril was no longer grinning, and was now listening to every word he spoke.

"As is common knowledge, Wolfsbane has a naturally repelling effect on a transformed Werewolf. That is the reason that I chose to participate in this mission is because of the single fact that area around Wadim is abundant with Wolfsbane. It is therefore highly peculiar that a Werewolf should operate here on such a regular basis."

"That's just what I thought." agreed Lockhart.

"Mister Lockhart here wrote to me asking about my previous assignments. When I mentioned this case he expressed a desire to participate. And that leaves you, mister Gavril."

Pilibos eyed him suspiciously. "Are you a hunter, Gavril?" he asked, suddendly.

For a split second, the ugly man seemed to hesitate, but regained his devious grin in a fraction of a moment. "Yes, I'd reckon I am."


End file.
